


Sullen Bird

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/F, Love/Hate, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Looking at Kokachin makes Khutulun's stomach turn a little.





	Sullen Bird

The Blue Princess of Bayaut was quite a beauty.

When Khutulun saw her for the first time, she had already been incorporated into the court. Thoroughly. She knew where to sit when attending court, knew who she was allowed to talk to, what she was allowed to wear, where she was allowed to go.

Looking at her made Khutulun’s stomach turn a little. Being that kind of woman, a bird caged and cornered by the Khan, was a fate that frightened her. She was fortunate, she knew, to have a father that allowed her to run wild, to still have her freedom. Not, she told herself, that even at court she could ever be as caged as Kokachin. Look at the empress—the empress had more control of the court than any man. It was only because the Bayaut had been stubbornly rebellious against Kublai’s rule that they had to be put down, and only because they were put down that Kokachin was treated like this. Still.

Looking at Kokachin for too long, at the sullen grace hidden under veils of beads and elaborate dresses, made her uneasy. Perhaps it was the very sullenness and imperfection of Kokachin that made her especially so. There was still hate there, no matter how tamed. Someone ought to warn the Khan that his ward was still wild. Someone ought to stamp that out.

Khutulun was suitably respectful to Kokachin in public, of course. It would not do to be otherwise.

Overall she tried not to associate with her too much, and largely succeeded. Then one day during one of her more prolonged visits to Cambulac, she received a message, saying that the Blue Princess requested that she come to visit.

It was a little condescending, really. Like she expected Khutulun to come wait on her like she was a princess and Khutulun was not, when really they were equals in rank and at court Khutulun was the more highly favored. But Khutulun knew pretty well that Kokachin was kept caged and Khutulun was not, so Khutulun was free to visit who she chose, to come and go. And so she went to pay a visit to Kokachin out of curiosity, to see what the woman might want.

* * *

“There are few unmarried women here at court,” Kokachin said. “Few women my age. I have little company. But the empress often speaks your praises, and so I thought you might be a worthy friend. I appreciate the company.”

She spoke quietly, levelly, as she always did at court. As wary of Khutulun as she would be of Kublai. Something Khutulun appreciated—it was better to be wary of her than not. She crossed her arms. “Am I supposed to be honored by your request, too? That a captive thought herself my equal?”

She thought to see the flash in Kokachin’s eyes that sometimes manifested, but Kokachin’s gaze was fixed on the floor. Her voice, also, was cool and unchanged, as if Khutulun had spoken no insult at all. “I thought you might want to visit me, yes.”

“And why would you think that? You may have heard I usually keep company with men.”

“They say you keep men as friends,” Kokachin said, “and act in many ways like them. But the rumors do not say you utterly shun women, either.”

Now her gaze lifted, and met Khutulun’s boldly. Khutulun found herself flushing. This was the sort of talk one might expect in a camp or a barracks, not in a lady’s parlor, with the lady’s servant, Za Bing, only a few feet away, guarding the door. But how to respond to such a claim, still largely indirect? She tossed her head. “So you thought from those rumors I would be pleased to meet with you.” That was more of an insult than the insinuation in itself.

“Not only because of that,” Kokachin said softly. “Also from the way I’ve seen you look at me. I am not blind.”

“How I look at you?”

Kokachin put a hand on Khutulun’s arm. Her grip was only light, barely felt through Khutulun’s sleeve. Khutulun suppressed a shiver.

“You may tell me I am wrong if you want,” Kokachin said, “only as I said, I thought we might be friends to each other.”

Khutulun wanted to say that however she had looked at Kokachin, Kokachin had misinterpreted everything. But in the moment she could not. And she hated that Kokachin had made her feel less than confident, and she thought, abruptly, why should she not take advantage of this opportunity? Kokachin was nothing more than a toy to the Khan; let her be a toy to Khutulun also. Perhaps such a thing would ease Khutulun’s mind about her, too. Using Kokachin, she could assure herself she could never be Kokachin. And if she made Kokachin please her, then she would have tamed that rebellious grace that haunted her so.

She forced a laugh, sharp and bright as she laughed at those who would challenge her to a wrestling match—Kokachin, after all, was not doing anything so dissimilar. “All right then, princess of Bayaut. Let us be friends then.” She put her hands on Kokachin’s cheeks, holding that still face in place. “Shall we have privacy from your guard? I’d never harm your highness.”

“Za Bing,” Kokachin said, tone still cool and quiet, “you may step away for the moment. I will call you in when we are finished. You may stand outside the door.”

Za Bing bowed and left.

* * *

After that, Kokachin did not unnerve Khutulun as much, not in the way of revulsion. But she unnerved her in other ways. She was always so terribly quiet. She was quiet when she put her hands on Khutulun, quiet when Khutulun put her hands on her. She was quiet at court, and quiet in private. She was quiet when the two of them went riding together, even when Khutulun called out greetings to friends and acquaintances in the streets.

When she did speak, it was to people beneath her. She would sometimes speak to peasants in the street, apologizing for their having to get out of the way of their horses, or asking to buy flowers or fruit from a common vendor. She was pleasant with these people, and in small talk with them seemed more open than she ever seemed with Khutulun.

This should not have bothered Khutulun; again, it was the wariness she was due. She was a dangerous woman. But she could not help but feel a small prick of jealousy at times like these.

The worst was when Kokachin smiled at these people. She had two smiles. One was the one she used at court, close-lipped, only occasionally revealing small teeth. The other was the one she used when she was not on-guard: One that actually crinkled her eyes and creased her cheeks. This was a smile she rarely showed to Khutulun. But it was very beautiful.

On seeing it, Khutulun would want nothing more than to grab her and kiss her. But she only bestowed it on common folk, it seemed, and so only in public, and in public, Khutulun could do no such thing. It was irritating. Khutulun liked to get what she wanted, and here was something she craved deep in her belly, and it was not hers, even if Kokachin, in many ways, was.

Kokachin was so hers that they had begun to stand or sit near each other at courtly gatherings, begun to actually speak to each other around others. So hers that others had begun to notice. So hers that one day the empress called her to a private meeting.

“I have noticed your budding friendship with the Blue Princess,” the empress said. “It has pleased me. She is very lonely, you know.”

“As one might be, when all one’s people were killed for blatantly defying the Khan,” Khutulun said. “Her fate was earned. She might have avoided it by honorable death.”

The empress laughed condescendingly, and Khutulun knew she had spoken too strongly. But these were thoughts she had had before really knowing Kokachin; they were not exactly untrue, even though now she did sometimes think of Kokachin with pity. But not often. One did not feel pity for a fallen enemy, especially not one whom had already been shown mercy. And Kokachin’s fate was surely merciful, even if it caused Khutulun dread, even if it turned Khutulun’s stomach. It was deserved for the actions of her people; it could never come to Khutulun, daughter of Mongols, to live in such shame…

“Well, you must tell me your impressions of Kokachin,” the empress said. “It has been left to me to decide what to do with her. Did you know that?”

“It does not surprise me.”

“What do you think? Is she an honorable woman? Is she intelligent? Is she good?”

“Goodness is not a judgment I can make easily. Her honor perhaps can be measured by her conduct towards you, and whether she follows your wishes, having surrendered. She is intelligent,” Khutulun said, remembering how Kokachin had pinned down Khutulun’s nature. “But I can’t tell you much. Honestly, I barely understand her sometimes.”

She laughed, and the empress chuckled, but gave her a look. Days later, she was told that she was to go home to her father. She was not exactly ordered out of Cambulac, but it was close enough.

She would have asked the empress what had caused her displeasure in Khutulun’s conduct, but to be so open was considered rude at Cambulac, even though it would have been more honorable by Khutulun’s standards. Here it was always the hidden knives. Oh well; they were not angry, at least, for the empress told her she must come back sometime soon, and she would be missed. For some reason her absence was expedient… Why, it was pointless to speculate.

* * *

Of course she visited Kokachin before leaving.

“Must you go?” Kokachin asked.

It surprised Khutulun, who had never thought she meant much to Kokachin. Sure, Kokachin spent time with her, and they gave each other pleasure. But they had never spoken of their thoughts or feelings, only of shallow matters. And Kokachin had so seldom smiled at her… how could she miss Khutulun, when their relationship was a near nothing?

She responded only, “I can’t stay and cause the Khan displeasure.”

“No. I suppose you can’t.” Kokachin ran a hand over Khutulun’s hair, familiar. “We all must serve the Khan.”

She didn’t like the way Kokachin made her service sound servile, as if she and Kokachin were the same. But she said, “Yes. So must all China, and someday all the world.”

“I will miss you,” Kokachin said. “It is lonely without you.”

“You seem just as lonely when I am here.”

Kokachin shook her head. “No. You make me happy.”

“I’ve never seen a sign of that.”

“You make me very happy.”

And then Kokachin was crying. Which was as much as anything a proof that Khutulun could only cause her sadness. Khutulun held her up and patted her back, maybe a bit harder than she should have. She was not all that good at comforting women—or men for that matter, never had been. She said, uncertainly, “I will be back when circumstance allows.”

“You will be back,” Kokachin said, “but things will not be the same—I feel it.”

“Time changes everything. I must go,” Khutulun said, pushing her away. “It’s no use crying over it. Be a brave woman. You are a princess, aren’t you?”

Kokachin nodded and smiled, just a twist of her lips, far from any real happiness. Khutulun knew she would not try to be happy while Khutulun was gone any more than she had effected cheer while Khutulun was here. She was not the kind of bird who sang in the cage.

When she was gone from Cambulac, and back among her Mongol comrades, she could no longer see Kokachin, and so she should have been free from many worries. But the thought of sullen, wild Kokachin, alone in a cold city, continued to disturb her. It would continue to be with her whenever she saw a blue bird or a woman dressed with impeccable robes and beads.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't watched Marco Polo in months but for some reason I still keep on having fic ideas for it. So, fic goes on, but forgive any discrepancies. I tried my best!


End file.
